He passes the rigging to a member of his crew and comes to the edge of the boat, hopping down easily onto the dock and landing a few feet in front of us. Before he can even straighten up, Crescentia and I are both in deep curtsies.
“Thora, Lady Crescentia,” he says when we rise again. “What brings you to the docks today?”
“I was craving some sea air, Your—” I break off when he gives me a look, reminding me of our agreement last night. “Søren.” But at the sound of his given name, Crescentia gives me a sharp, suspicious look. It seems I can’t win, so I hastily shift focus. “We didn’t realize it would be such an event. What are all the boats for?”
His expression wavers slightly. “Nothing of importance. Dragonsbane is just causing a little trouble along the trade route. Sank a few of our trade ships last week. We’re going to bring him and his allies in,” he says.
I can’t bring myself to believe him. Not completely, at least. Not with this much artillery. The Theyn keeps hand-drawn maps hanging on the walls of his sitting room, and though they were never of much practical interest to Cress and me, we used to marvel at the beauty of them and note the differences between the artists’ depictions, how a narrow stream in one was painted as a wide river in another. But I do remember that in no version was the trade route wide enough to hold a boat the size of the one off the coast. In each map, the route was like a piece of string winding through the Haptain Mountains.
“I’m sorry we interrupted your plans,” Søren continues. “I can’t imagine much fresh sea air makes it past this lot unsoured.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s an honor to see so many Kalovaxian men working so hard for the country,” I tell him.
I may be laying it on a tad thick. Even Crescentia shoots me a bemused look.
“And you’ll be leading them?” she asks, turning her attention back to Søren.
He nods. “My first time leading a crew of my own,” he admits, his voice thick with pride. “We leave in a week’s time. These are just the finishing touches. The crew goes through them personally, as a way of aligning ourselves with the ship. It’s an old Kalovaxian custom,” he explains to me.
“Well, the old Kalovaxian custom is for the crew to build the boat itself,” Crescentia adds with a dimpled smile. “But it was amended when the boats kept falling to pieces. Warriors don’t make the best shipsmiths.”
Søren’s eyes spark with a laugh that doesn’t quite make it out of him, but she looks pleased with herself. Her dimples deepen.
“That they don’t,” he agrees. “But we can be trusted with the rigging and finishing. Barely. Would you like a tour?” he asks.
Crescentia opens her mouth to politely decline, but I get there first.
“Yes, please,” I say. “That sounds fascinating.”
She pinches the inside of my arm but tries to hide her irritation from the Prinz. Inspecting boats is not how she wanted this day to go, and even I have to admit that boats and fascinating do not belong in the same sentence. But this is a chance to get information.
Søren leads us to the rickety ladder fitted against the hull and helps hand Crescentia up first. Over her shoulder, she shoots me an annoyed look that I try to match with an encouraging one. She has a tendency toward seasickness, and among Kalovaxians, this is seen as a matter of great shame. I’ll have to give her an explanation later to quell her irritation. If she wants a crown so badly, I’ll say, she’ll need to put up with some discomfort.
When Søren hands me up next, I let my fingers linger on the bare skin of his arm a few seconds longer than necessary, the way I’ve seen Dagmær do at parties. It’s a brief touch, barely noteworthy, but the grip of his other hand at my waist tightens. I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look at him. My cheeks warm as I pull myself onto the ship and then straighten my dress. Cress fidgets next to me, smoothing her hair and adjusting the neckline of her dress, her cheeks bright pink.
Seconds later, Søren is with us, gesturing around at the ship.
“Drakkars can hold a hundred people a ship,” he explains, confirming my estimation. “Every drakkar is fitted with twenty oars and twelve cannons,” he adds as he offers each of us an arm.
We start toward the prow, the ship rocking gently beneath us. I’ve been on Kalovaxian ships only a handful of times over the years, and I can’t help but admire how they’re built—sleek, simple vessels designed for speed, powered by a complicated set of sails and riggings and oars. They’re very different from the Astrean sailboats I remember from my childhood trips around the country with my mother. Those were toys. These are weapons.
His sailors stop their work as we approach, and bow deeply.
“Men, we have the honor of a visit from Lady Thora and Lady Crescentia, the Theyn’s daughter,” he tells them.
There’s a murmuring of polite words, though they all seem to be directed at Crescentia, which isn’t surprising. These men revere her father as a living god.
“And this, ladies, is the finest crew in the world,” Søren says with a grin.
One of the crew, a young man a little older than Søren with surprisingly dark hair and gold skin, rolls his eyes. “He always says that.”
“As I should, Erik,” Søren answers, grinning back. “I assembled all of you myself, didn’t I? Why would I want anyone but the best for my crew?”
“There’s no accounting for poor judgment, Søren,” Erik volleys back, “even if you are a prinz.”
“Especially since you’re a prinz,” an older man with a ruddy, sunburnt face and a large gut adds with a laugh.
The difference between Søren and his father is jarring. I’ve seen his father have men executed for less insubordination, but Søren’s laugh joins his men’s instead, and it feels even more disorienting. Søren looks so much like the Kaiser that it’s easy to think of them as somewhat interchangeable—just like these warriors are the same, more or less, as the ones who stormed the palace all those years ago.
“Are you feeling all right, Lady Crescentia?” Søren asks, concerned.
I look at my friend, who has, I realize, turned quite green in the few minutes we’ve been on board, despite the fact that the ship is well tethered and barely rocking.
“Oh dear,” I cut in, because I suspect that if she opens her mouth to speak, something else entirely might come out, and the Prinz has been vomited on enough for one week. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but Crescentia hasn’t been feeling well today. We thought a spot of sea air would do her good, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. We might be better off going back to the castle.” I put a comforting arm around her shoulders and she sags against me.
“It could be a good idea to let her settle before a rough carriage ride back,” Søren reasons. “If I may, there’s a cool place to sit beneath the trees, there. Would you mind?” he asks her.
Despite her queasiness, Crescentia can’t agree fast enough. I move to go with them, but Søren stops me. “Stay for a few more minutes,” he says. “Erik will continue the tour. You seemed so interested before.”
“I was. I am,” I agree, a little too quickly. “Are you all right, Cress?”
Crescentia nods as she straightens up so she isn’t leaning on me anymore. Her eyes are nearly twice their usual size as they flit between Søren and me. She looks even greener, but somehow I think that’s more to do with nerves about being alone with the Prinz than the sea itself. I give her a reassuring smile as Søren helps her off the ship.
I’m supposed to be seducing the Prinz, not passing him off to Crescentia, but that can wait for another day. These ships were built for something, and I have a strong suspicion that it wasn’t to defend a trade route from a pirate who was—as of my meeting with Blaise last night—hiding behind a forest of cypress trees a mile outside the capital.
“Which parts of the ship were you interested in seeing,
Lady Thora?” Erik asks me.
As we begin to walk, the other crew members go back to their duties, not sparing me another glance. If Cress were still here, they would be hanging on each word and gesture, but fine clothes or not, I am still Astrean and therefore not worthy of their attention. Which will only make it easier to gain information.
I don my most innocent smile and link my arm through Erik’s.
“I’ve heard stories about the berserkers. Are they as fearsome as they sound? I would love to see one.”
His forehead creases, and he’s quiet for a few seconds before answering. “I’m sorry, Lady Thora. We don’t have any on board at the moment and…well, I’m not sure the Kaiser would approve of showing you any, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Oh, of course,” I say, biting my lip and fidgeting with the end of my braid. “I’m flattered, really, to be thought of as so dangerous.”
He laughs, the tension smoothing from his forehead. “Anything else you would like to see?”
I think for a moment, tilting my head to one side and trying to look slow-witted, even while my mind is churning. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s been such a long time since I was on a boat, sir,” I say finally.
I can tell by looking at Erik that he has no title. He’s too dark in hair and skin, and the palms of his hands are rough with hard calluses. His clothes have been torn and mended a dozen times over. If I had to guess, I would imagine he’s not full Kalovaxian, but rather the product of the siege of Goraki—the last country the Kalovaxians conquered before Astrea—taken pity on by whichever highborn man fathered him.
His neck flushes red at my address and he hastily waves it away. “There are no sirs, or lords, or even prinzes on a ship, Lady Thora,” he says.
“Then perhaps there should be no ladies either,” I reply, earning a laugh.
“Fair enough,” he says. “Why don’t we start with the bow and work our way back?” he suggests.
“Oh yes, please,” I say, following him toward the front of the ship. I keep my eyes wide and eager, ready to hang onto his every word. If he’s feeling confident and important, he’s more likely to let something slip he shouldn’t. “I would love to get a better look at the dragon figurehead. Is it true they’re as popular in the North as birds are here?”
“I wouldn’t know, La—Thora. I’ve never been farther north than Goraki,” he says, solidifying my suspicion.
“Well, they must be magnificent at any rate, though I don’t know if seeing them is worth braving the cold weather,” I say.
An idea suddenly occurs to me, though I know it’s a dangerous one that could turn bad very quickly, especially after my berserker question might have already raised his suspicions. But the threat of a partnering with Lord Dalgaard is nipping at my heels.
“I hope it won’t get too chilly in…oh, where was it Søren said you were going? I’ve never been very good at geography,” I say with my best attempt at looking sheepish.
He gives me a sideways glance, but if he finds anything strange about the question, he doesn’t say. He clears his throat.
“The names do tend to run together,” he agrees. “But not to worry—the Vecturia Islands are only a bit north of here.”
That was easier than I expected. Too easy, I can’t help but think—though why should Erik think my question was anything other than an idle query from an idle mind? It’s practically small talk.
The Vecturia Islands. I repeat the name over and over in my mind, determined to remember it. Something about it pricks my memory, but I can’t place it. Hopefully, Blaise will be able to the next time I see him.
Crates of ammunition are stacked next to cannons. I run the numbers in my head quickly. From what I can tell, it looks like each box can hold roughly ten cannonballs, and there are five boxes sitting at each cannon. Søren said there were twelve cannons….That’s six hundred shots altogether. And there are a fleet of these warships, with the largest operating as the command ship, where Søren will give orders from.
“There are an awful lot of cannons,” I say as we walk past another cluster of them.
“The Vecturians are barbarians,” Erik says with a dismissive shrug, though that word chafes. It’s the same word the Kalovaxians use to describe Astreans, though the Kalovaxians are the ones who thrive on war and bloodshed. “We aren’t anticipating too much trouble, but we need to be prepared,” he continues.
I decide to press my luck.
“That sounds dangerous,” I say, biting my lip. “I can’t imagine what would make that journey necessary.”
He opens his mouth to answer, but after a second of hesitation, he closes it again. “Kaiser’s orders,” he says with a tight smile. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“He always does,” I reply, hoping my smile looks more natural than it feels.
THE YOUNGER OF CRESCENTIA’S SLAVES is waiting for me on the dock when we disembark. I tell Erik that I’ll pray for his safety before leaving him.
As I approach the girl, her eyes dart around in an effort to avoid mine. “The Prinz escorted Lady Crescentia back to the palace,” she says, “but they promised to send the carriage for us soon.” She’s skinny to the point of malnutrition, yet her cheeks still have a childish roundness. Her large, dark eyes are sunken deep in her face, making her look far older than I’m sure she is.
She doesn’t curtsy, but then, Astrean slaves never curtsy to me anymore. It can too easily be construed as paying deference to a sovereign, and more than a handful have lost their lives for it. The Kaiser has done everything in his great power to isolate me from my people. Even when there are Astrean slaves around, we can never speak, and most of them won’t even look at me. I never used to understand it. I thought he was simply cruel in putting up so many walls around me. But if I hadn’t been so lonely, if I hadn’t felt so separate, maybe I wouldn’t have been so desperate to break myself into what he wanted me to be.
No one can say that the Kaiser isn’t smart. But now I’m determined to be smarter.
The Kaiser would never have approved leaving me alone with an Astrean, even with my Shadows nearby. But maybe this is one of the inches of freedom that executing Ampelio has bought me. I won’t waste it.
“I would prefer to walk, if you don’t mind,” I tell her. “What do they call you?”
She hesitates, doe eyes darting around briefly. She knows my Shadows are here, too. “Elpis,” she says, so quietly that I barely hear her.
“Do you mind walking, Elpis?” I ask her.
She chews her bottom lip for a few seconds until I’m worried she’ll draw blood. “We’ll have to walk through the slave quarter, my lady,” she warns. “It will be empty this time of day, mostly, but…”
“I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“I…I don’t mind,” she says, her voice strengthening. “We don’t have a guard, though.”
“We have my Shadows,” I say, though they’re more to keep me leashed than to keep me safe, and I doubt they’d step in unless it looked like I might be killed or disfigured. They certainly wouldn’t lift a finger to help Elpis. She must know this, too, because she looks at me warily.
“Of…of course, my lady.”
I can’t blame her for her discomfort. She was younger than I was when the siege happened. Astrea is little more than a ghost story to her. I’m not sure if that makes her a more or less dangerous person to trust. There is so much more than a whipped back at stake this time. I need to be sure of Elpis.
I’m tempted to look around for my Shadows as we walk, but I know by now that I won’t see them and it’ll only make me appear suspicious. Maybe I’ll catch sight of a scrap of black fabric darting through a nearby alley, or hear a handful of soft footsteps, but nothing more. They’re trained to be neither seen nor heard, and I’m sure they have Spiritgems aplenty to aid them in that. I’
ve heard that cloaks lined with Air Gems can make the wearer invisible for a time, and nearly soundless.
They’ll tell the Kaiser about this, though I doubt they’ll dare get close enough to hear what we talk about. He won’t be pleased to hear that I exchanged words—no matter how innocent—with an Astrean slave. Thora’s voice sounds again in my mind, urging me to stay safe, but Blaise’s is louder. Twenty thousand.
“Do you live in this area with your parents?” I ask her as we walk.
“Yes, my lady,” Elpis says carefully. “Well, with my mother, at least, and my younger brother. My father died in the Conquering.”
The Conquering is what the Kalovaxians call the siege. It makes it sound more honorable, I suppose, to conquer something wild rather than to lay siege to something defenseless.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I tell her. “What does your mother do?”
“She was a botanist before, but now she’s a seamstress for the Theyn and Lady Crescentia.”
“How old is your brother?” I ask.
She hesitates. “He’ll be ten soon,” she says, a hard edge coming to her voice. “He’s my half brother.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing at her uncertainly. Even at court, there are women who have children out of wedlock, and it’s far less shameful for a widow than a maiden. If my math is correct, the siege would have just ended when her mother became pregnant. The pieces fit together and I realize what Elpis isn’t saying.
Conqueror’s Rights allowed warriors to terrorize and rob and enslave my people without fear of retribution, but I’d never thought of all that would entail. Rape. I won’t let myself think around the word or use one of the many euphemisms to try to dull it. Another injustice my people have faced. Another thing I swear will be paid for.
Elpis isn’t as practiced at hiding her anger as I am. It plays over her face like words on a page, evident in the tension in her jaw and the intense focus of her eyes. She could turn a person to stone with a gaze like that. It’s an anger I know too well.
Ash Princess Page 8